The Pendulum War: Pendulum Heroes, #3

By James Beamon

Jason is the Chosen One of Prophecy... maybe.

 

His unmarked body may be the catalyst that brings about the return of the corrupting God of Power, and with him, the threat of madness and chaos.  That's enough for the Holy Aian Empire to stop at nothing to see Jason dead, even if that means total war with the peoples of the Free States.

 

Little do they know Jason's not truly aian or that his controversial body was artificially designed through Hierophane magic. Even if they did know, stopping at nothing means not letting a little thing like the overwhelming possibility this pretender is not the hope (or bane) of aiankind stop them from ending him as a threat.

 

Since staying home's never been an option from the time they were thrust into this world, Jason and his friends will have to go hard to stay one step ahead of an entire empire in dogged pursuit.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nadi Cat Press
• Release date: Mar 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781732386259

James Beamon

James Beamon is a science fiction and fantasy author whose short stories have appeared in places such as Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine, Apex, Lightspeed and Orson Scott Card's Intergalactic Medicine Show.  He spent twelve years in the Air Force, deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, and is in possession of the perfect buffalo wings recipe that he learned from carnies.  He currently lives in Virginia with his wife, son and attack cat.  He's serious about the attack cat... do not point at it.

Book preview

Chapter 1

A Block of Wood

MIKE FELT PROGRESSIVELY ill at ease the more he climbed Mount Kutsal. Despite the stairs, fashioned from rough hewn logs and set into the mountain to facilitate the ascent... despite Savvy’s explanation that it was a protected, holy site immune to the war, Mike’s senses tingled. It was not because of the cold, wintry air.

His companions seemed to take the final leg of their long journey with less apprehension. Underneath his brown hood, Jason’s head panned up at overcast skies, a slight smile on his gray aian face. Savvy focused on the trail in front of them, trying to guide them along a path partially obscured by recent snowfall. Runt scanned the sparse mountainside and would gather the occasional dead stick protruding from snow tufts which he’d stuff into his pack, no doubt for a campfire when they finally did settle down.

It was cue enough for Mike to relax a bit. But a deployment in Afghanistan had made navigating mountain passes the least relaxing hike he’d ever take. Instead, he kept his awareness turned up to eleven, his fingers flexing rhythmically in the shimmery-silver lightning gloves. Occasionally, he’d tap his fingers against the diskbow at his waist as he made his way up the mountain.

So, Jason said, with this blood whisper thing... any special effects?

What? Savvy asked, her features scrunching up. She was probably trying to understand what the hell a special effect was and how it differed from regular effects.

No, Mike answered.

Aw, bogus, Jason replied.

They continued on in silence, only for Jason to break it a moment later.

How do you know that it worked then?

You will know, Savvy answered simply, not bothering to look away from the path as she walked.

Jason nodded. Again, silence rushed to fill the gap left by Savvy’s reply. Again, Jason broke it a second later.

But, I mean, is it a feeling? Does the Blood Whisper Fairy leave a dime under my bedroll? Can I get a better tutorial than that?

Mike grimaced. Here’s a tutorial... shut up and find out.

Man, so weak, Jason said. But Mike’s reply kept him quiet, and this time longer than a moment. Mike’s ears returned to listening for sounds of ambush. A hawk screeched as their boots crunched through snow, but nothing else.

Savvy should’ve never told Jason about blood whispers and the Jutting Finger that sat atop Mount Kutsal. No, Mike took that back; the real problem was the statement Savvy had made after telling them all where they were going and why. Even aians go there for guidance, to be spoken to in whisper, she had said, that is the power of this nasran relic, here before the tribes were tribes. That was all she had to say to get Jason’s eyes dancing with excitement. He hadn’t left it alone for the first week of their trek here; now he was starting up again.

They climbed the steps through snow and trail for another hour until they finally reached the summit. The mountaintop was flat, a giant, crude circle that hosted in its center a gnarled redwood log which seemed to point straight up at the gray, gloomy sky. Next to the log, ten aians sat in a half circle around a generous campfire.

All of them eyed the newcomers. One, a member of horse house Otam, smiled grimly.

It’s a trying time to travel up here, friends, he said with a shake of his head. I’m afraid any answers you’ll get come with a tax. Eighty percent of what you’ve got. Come warm yourselves by our fire while you empty out your packs and pockets.

Seriously? Jason asked to no one in particular. Bandits way up here?

Savvy looked hot enough to melt the snow, her face flush with anger. "The Kurtsaldah is a sacred site. You blaspheme my ancestors and taint their works with your presence. Leave."

Horsey boy stood up, and the rest followed as if ordered to. Don’t mistake my hospitality as a true dialogue, nasran hag. You have no say here. Now the tax has been raised to ninety percent. One more utterance and we take it all. Now come here and pay.

Look, Captain Tariff, Jason said. Do we seem like your ordinary pilgrims? Since I don’t see any of the House of Yol here, let me illuminate you all. Jason took down his hood and revealed his unmarked features, followed by pushing his sleeve up to reveal the arm of bone.

All the aians took a step back as if Jason was made of snakes. The bandit leader raised his hand in surrender. We’ve got no desire to tangle with the Chosen One.

Mike had heard enough talk. He grabbed his diskbow and fired. The disk shinged out with blurried speed, burying itself into the horse aian’s gut with a spray of red mist. The bandit crumpled wordlessly.

What the hell Mike? Jason asked.

The other bandits were quicker to recover than Jason and began to brandish their weapons. But at this point it really was only a matter of arithmetic.

There were nine left. Savvy walked toward them briskly, grabbing two gilded wormwood hexes from her belt. Gather she named the first hex as she bent to scoop snow.  It seemed the snow rushed to collect into her hand. Fuel she named the other hex before slapping it onto her massive snowball. She flung the snow into the bandits’ fire, where it exploded as if it was made of gasoline. All nine were caught in the violent blast. Two bandits caught fire from the explosion and didn’t get up again.

Seven left. Five landed close together which made it easy when Mike clapped his gloved hands together and released arc lightning at them, frying them instantly.

Two left. Runt rushed over in speed that belied his giant mass. Before they could get up, a couple swipes from the half weagr’s z-blade staff kept them down permanently.

Jason still looked to be in shock from all this. What the hell, guys? he cried. They were giving up. You don’t do that to folks who surrender!

Yes, you damn do, Mike said. They weren’t combatants, they were bandits. At best, they honor their deal and slink off the mountain, only to come back after we leave to exploit, rob, and murder the more helpless kind of traveler. At worst, they come back an hour after we’re asleep and cut our throats. Now, I got a real serious problem with the second scenario, but I’ll be damned if I tolerate the first if I don’t have to. Fuck those thieves.

Since when are we protecting theoretical people? Jason asked. Mike began cranking his diskbow taut. Runt wiped his blades clean. Savvy carefully checked the fallen bandits for any hints of life. No one answered Jason.

He scratched his head with bone fingers. I dunno. I feel kinda crappy about what just went down. It all seems very unheroic.

I don’t know what to tell you, Mike said. Maybe you’ll feel heroic tossing these jackasses off the mountain. Unless you want them staring at you tonight with their dead, vacant eyes.

If there was any more protest left in Jason, he kept it there. He wordlessly pulled a female from the mole house Zemishirus toward the ledge. Mike stopped him before Jason could reach down to pick her up.

Hey, make sure you give them their just desserts. Check their pockets. Let’s rob these fools.

In due time, both the mountaintop was clear and their coffers substantially increased by bandit loot. The four of them were left alone with the Jutting Finger.

It did not impress Mike. Of course, very little outside of a portal going home would’ve impressed him after all this way and time. Getting to the Jutting Finger was no easy task, but an endeavor of two months. The war had disrupted trade lines, and all but the craziest merchants refused to run caravans which could be seized by aian Armsguard, Hierophane mercenaries or marauding bandits not unlike the ones that just got tossed off the mountain. This meant walking for the most part, a slow going pace as news of marching armies forced extended backpedaling and detours.

After all that, it was hard not to see the Jutting Finger as simply a block of wood. It could’ve at least looked like a finger. Sure, there were glyphs and symbols like Savvy’s hexes carved into the massive redwood log, but it was still a block of wood.

But this was it, Savvy’s last and only desperate plan. After Enverpasha ran off with the claims to command virtually all tribes, she had deliberated for days before coming up with this Hail Mary. It involved amplifying her blood whisper and hoping it would shed some light on the location of the Lost Tribe, and with it, the ring of the Buyukata.

Before she led them here, she explained this wouldn’t be the first time someone’s come to the mountain looking for the same thing. Dreams of bringing home the Lost Tribe, of becoming the Buyukata, had fueled the hearts of aspiring tribal leaders for over a century. She didn’t want to be Buyukata, she needed to be Buyukata. This was the only difference between her and all those who came before and failed.

So... Jason began, letting the word marinate in the air before adding more to his sentence, we whispering or...

"Tabii, we whisper," Savvy said walking up to the Jutting Finger. She took out her dagger and without ceremony cut across her open palm. She began to smear the blood across the log.

Oh. That wasn’t redwood. That was eons of dried blood staining the tree.

Savvy stepped back without saying a word and began applying a bandage to her hand.

That’s it? Jason asked.

For me, Savvy said. If you want your blood to whisper to you, you will have to add it to the Finger.

Jason, warily eyeing the log, raised an eyebrow. That doesn’t look sanitary, he said with a slow shake of his head. There’s gotta be Tetanus or E.coli or something just raging on that stump.

"Tut, Savvy shushed Jason. Then don’t whisper."

Mike could almost see the kid’s gears turning. Jason looked at his hand and back at the Jutting Finger and back again at his hand. Stuck between wanting to try something new and fear of contracting a flesh-eating bacteria from rubbing the bloody stump, Jason finally decided to risk it when he dug a bone finger into his palm and dragged it across with a grimace. He stepped up to the wood and smeared his blood across it.

I swear, I better not get visions of me dying from doing this, he said.

As Mike expected, Runt stayed away from the Jutting Finger. The big man wasn’t afraid of magic; he just had little use for fortune telling. Any given date in the future Runt would be doing what he was doing right now: exactly what he wanted. Or he’d be dead. Instead of wasting his time and his blood, Runt went about salvaging the bandits’ already built fire, now a bit wild and unkempt after Savvy had tossed snow-gasoline on it.

Mike looked at the Jutting Finger, all gleaming and slick now that it sported a coat of its favorite paint. And he thought, What the hell? as he pulled a purplish hand out of its glove. A quick cut across the palm later, his blood mingled with Savvy, Jason’s and an eon’s worth of people seeking answers.

Maybe this thing will give him specifics on a solid return home date.

JASON AWOKE BELIEVING he had somehow died in his sleep and went to heaven. An aian woman floated down to him, gliding gently on silken butterfly wings. Thick blonde curls, the kind he’d only ever seen on women in movies set in Greek and Roman times, framed a fair gray face. Matching her silken wings, a white silk gown draped her body and glowed softly in the moonlight. The gown clung to her, the curve of her breasts and the contours of her flat stomach easily readable across fabric that flowed like water as the breeze rippled it. Her face, her hair, her gown, her descent from heaven, her everything—it was singularly the most beautiful thing Jason had seen in this world or the next.

Too late he noticed the sword.

The tip of her blade at his throat gave him a better sense of gravity. He wasn’t floating, having visions of his future Mrs. Cephrin. He was sitting in his bedroll on Mount Kutsal’s summit. Around him, his friends stayed asleep. Before him, the sword led the way up to a woman whose dancing blue eyes flashed a cold anger.

Were it but such a slim chance your death would catch in the waking world, I would drive this blade through your neck with the hopes that it would end this foul war.

Of all the things to know, such as how she got there and why was she angry or if there was any way to not get stabbed tonight, one thing stood out as crucially important in Jason’s mind. Who are you? he asked.

Do you not recognize the Temptress, the Kiss of Night, Patroness of Dreamers? Are you really as Yol and Ananna proclaim you to be, some ignorant, bewildered bumpkin bumbling about? How can one such as you cause such chaos?

Jason should’ve figured it was Eula, the goddess of the house of moths. She really made an entrance.

Hey, I didn’t cause anything, he told her, a simple plan growing in his head. It was you guys, your lofty Temple of Houses, he said, his voice progressively rising, who took an innocent guy, locked him up, tried to kill him, and started a war because he didn’t march down to the chopping block with a smile on his face! he finished in a shout.

Jason cast a questing eye behind Eula to where his friends were. Despite his raised octaves, they remained asleep. So much for help with the beautiful, bloodthirsty goddess.

I fear the other gods may be right about your bumbling, Eula said, you just tried to awaken these others when this is strictly a dream. Eula’s sword evaporated, as if to prove what Jason saw wasn’t quite real. But what you say befell you has the ring of truth as well.

Jason raised an eyebrow. Why wouldn’t it be true what I’m saying?

Simply because the Temple says otherwise. Officially, you rode into the city and proceeded to the High Fane where you declared yourself a god and demanded your place on the Twelfth Throne. That’s when you were held for trial but before the High Fane could ascertain the validity of your claims, you abandoned the test of legitimacy and destroyed part of the Temple with the help of your allies in the Hierophane. Now you’re roaming the countryside, raising an army to combat the High Fane.

What?! Jason cried, jumping to his feet. I was minding my own business when the Armsguard bumrushed me. They made me go to Nasreddin. And ever since, every time I try to go back to my business, a god comes out of nowhere and drags me back into the temple’s mix. Now they’re lying on me? Does this look like an army to you? I can’t get these guys to do what I want even in my own dreams.

However Eula may have felt about the situation—a growing mystery to Jason—she smiled at his last words, a faint smirk that appeared on her lips as her oscillating eyes looked him over once again.

This makes a lot more sense now that I’ve met you, Cephrin, she said. The official portrait of you being a diabolical rebel mastermind didn’t quite mesh with the personal assessment of most gods that you were a strange, likable dunce.

Jason shrugged. Glad the likable dunce could help you make sense of it all. Me? I’m trying to figure out how you got misinformed about me. You’re a goddess. Shouldn’t you know what’s really going on?

That must be the wholly ignorant thinking everyone warned me about, Eula said. Just because we’re gods and goddesses and lead our respective houses doesn’t mean we share the same personality or same agendas. Not all of us are in love with the day to day of governing the Holy Aian Empire. The ones who are, Ananna, Menanderus, and Nadi were there in Nasreddin to meet you. Apparently, my three siblings decided between themselves to get rid of you quickly before the other House Masters could weigh in with their opinions. But you got away and they’ve retold the story of that escape to sell us a war that could’ve been prevented if they had exercised a bit of patience.

Maybe you could spread the word, Jason said. Because when I ran into Yol, he seemed beyond sold on the idea of stopping a criminal Chosen One.

Yol will support the story version which best leads him into battle. But for Yol, you have Baligoz, who will always let the decision to support the Temple and its wars rest with the individual.

And what about you? Where do you stand?

I stand for life.

Does this mean we’re cool? You’re not gonna try to kill me with dream swords, right?

Truthfully, killing you to end this war is a tempting thought. But an eternity is a long time to have an innocent life weighing down my heart. Besides, at this point I’m hard pressed to believe your death would cease the fighting. If history has anything to teach us, you’re most likely just another false Chosen One, of no use to anyone.

For the first time since he heard about the prophecy, Jason wanted to be the actual Chosen One. Not a fake, not a fluke manufactured by mages and their pendulum, but the aian messiah come to mend the twelve houses. Someone Eula could believe in, a god that sat next to her in Nasreddin.

You know, I could be the Chosen One, Jason said. I mean, the jury’s still out on that one.

I admit, I thought it strange that I could not see you in the world of dreams until now that you’ve used this beacon here. Still, you, the Chosen One? I doubt that.

Jason’s brow furrowed in indignation. Why?

The prophecy says the Chosen One is a savior of his people, one who leads the beleaguered masses away from tribulation. Who are you leading on this lonely mountaintop?

He looked around. How do you know I wasn’t just taking a break?

You want to do something worthy of the Chosen One? Help the aians who chose life away from the Empire, caught in the turmoil of being stuck between two sides at war. None are more beleaguered than they.

Too easy, Jason waved away her words with his bone hand. That sounds like a standard fetch quest, no subs. If that’s all it takes to show you I’m chosen all I need for you is to mark my map. Where exactly are they?

Eula looked Jason up and down. In war, nothing’s easy. But they believe in you because they’ve seen you and perhaps something in you. In their dreams, you are their deliverance from pens and cages. They wait for you in Suusteren.

Chapter 2

Siege

RUKI PROVOS GRABBED the peacekeeper by a chrome gauntlet and shook vigorously. Captain Erox, the bastard, had driven a hard bargain, getting two casks of Glandier red wine from Ruki’s limited stores.  Instead of letting the captain see him grimace, Ruki Provos flashed a winning smile, one that shined like the officer’s gleaming metallic uniform as they finally sealed the deal.

Ruki remembered when his clothes shined as equally bright as the peacekeepers in their chrome armor and white cloaks. These days white was impossible to keep up with as a civilian in Suusteren. Ruki instead clothed himself in a clean, simple tan tunic and brown pants.  

For what it was worth, Ruki looked a far cry better than the city. She wasn’t faring so well under the High Fane’s assault. The boulders they hurled from catapults outside the wall had obliterated buildings and littered her streets with rocky debris. The air raids were worse, with winged soldiers from House Demir and Eula dropping firebombs. The mages garrisoned within her walls did what they could to nullify the attacks, but some always got through, and the town, she bore those scars.

Where Ruki and Captain Erox had met for this extralegal deal was no different. What used to be the resplendent courtyard of the Res Museum now stood barren, the trees lifeless trunks, the once regal building surrounding it a broken, blasted husk.

Captain Erox flashed his own smile to match Ruki’s. But Ruki trusted smiles the same way he trusted snakes. He was simply glad the captain had taken off his helmet; all peacekeepers looked alike with them on. Behind Captain Erox was a detail of four peacekeepers and a hand-pulled caravan. Ruki could only see the first cart, but that was the only one he cared about. He allowed his eyes to drift away from the captain while they closed the deal—a tad unprofessional—to look over the cart full of brown burlap sacks he’d just procured. The sacks held grain: oat, wheat, rice, millet—all of which would turn a commanding profit in a place under siege. And all of it was procured not with money, but with the one thing the soldiers weren’t allowed.

It was like his uncle had always said. Business thrives anywhere.

Captain Erox withdrew his gauntleted hand and snapped his fingers. One of the helmeted peacekeepers came to attention and strode briskly behind Ruki, where the merchant kept his wagon. The cart was laden with various odds, ends, and in-betweens... the bulk of what remained of the Provos Trading Company in Suusteren. The peacekeeper grabbed two of what was likely the only three casks of Glandier wine left in the city, tucked one under each arm, and returned to his caravan.

Each of the four peacekeepers shouldered a sack from their caravan, ran over and tossed it into Ruki’s wagon. They did this twice, without care or concern for order, until the sacks of grain rose like a ramshackle shanty from the top of his cart.

Great. Now he’d have to rearrange the cart just to pull it, not to mention the time it would take to get it looking a little less inconspicuous. It was never wise to advertise you had plenty of food in a town starving slow.

As always, a pleasure Provos, Captain Erox said. He turned and ordered his men out of the courtyard.

Two men on each side grabbed handles on their caravan’s lead wagon and began to push. Ruki watched the wagons go by, the first with significantly less food that the well-fed garrison would never miss. The second wagon held various armor and weapons. The third held linen, useful for both beds and bandages. The fourth was a cage sparsely populated with aians.

Despite having seen these cages move throughout the city for almost two months, it was no easier to take the sight of this one. These aians weren’t enemy soldiers, but residents of Suusteren. But when the Holy Aian Empire attacked, the mages came and the peacekeepers with them, and declared the aian populace of the free city a threat from within.

That’s when the hunt began. These aians were headed to the internment camps built along the city walls. Most of them sat despondent, clutching their knees. They were hard to look at, and Ruki almost turned around to handle his own affairs until he saw one lying motionless on the floor of the cage.

Captain! Ruki called. Stop the cart!

The cart began to groan to a halt. Ruki took a few steps toward the cage, assessing the unconscious girl with a shrewd eye, disbelief telling him it couldn’t be her. But it was, cat ears from the House of Nadi peeking out of chestnut brown hair. He remembered her too well despite the brevity of their encounter.

Gina? Ruki asked.

She didn’t move. She didn’t groan.

The clink of metal against metal told Ruki that Captain Erox had made his way to the cage. Ruki turned to face him. What happened to her?

A feisty one, wouldn’t go peacefully. A shield bash to the back of the head brought her down, made her more agreeable.

Ruki looked back at Gina. Will she live? he asked.

She took a hard blow to the head. Your guess is as good as anyone’s, he said with a nonchalant shrug. If she awakens, fine. If she doesn’t, fine. Did you need something, Provos?

I need her, he said. Ruki didn’t know what she was still doing in Suusteren but it didn’t matter. This woman had traveled from another world, survived parasitic bokoru in Brambelfen and drove Ruki’s caravan away from an ambush, rescuing the lot of them from the unkillable Graverobber. He wasn’t about to watch her die in a prison wagon or get carted off to an internment slum.

Got a thing for kitty cats, do we? Captain Erox said. There are better things to invest in, trader. Chances are she’ll just get picked up again on the next patrol.

Let that be my worry, Ruki said. How about we let your worry be what to do with that third cask of Glandier, eh?

Sounds like a better worry to me, the captain said. He snapped his fingers and his four enlisted men got to work. While one pulled the wine from Ruki’s cart, another opened the door to the cage wagon for the remaining two. Those two brandished their swords before advancing on the cart keeping alert eyes on the prisoners. The other aians remained docile while the peacekeepers each grabbed Gina by an arm hauled her out of the wagon.

They all but threw her in Ruki’s arms and he had to take a couple shuffle steps backward lest he drop her. She hung in his grasp limply.

Enjoy whatever’s left of her, Provos, the captain said before turning his head to the side. Advance! he barked and his men took their positions on the sides of the caravan. Their wagons lurched with a groan, moving through the rubble of the broken courtyard to parts unknown.

Ruki kept a firm grasp on Gina. He pulled her gently to his cart and laid her to rest against it while he set about rummaging through his stores. He rustled through a few piles and bins until he emerged with a small glass jar that housed a blue gel.

Stave’s Salvation Salve, Ruki said, reading the label aloud. Let’s hope you really are the ‘water cleric in a bottle’ you claim to be.

Ruki massaged the gel into Gina’s scalp. Her head felt a slight bit warmer and Ruki hoped the wetness he felt through her chestnut hair was only the gel and not any blood.

He stood back and waited for what seemed like an eternity, every moment pulled taut as Ruki hoped the salve would do something, anything. Finally, Gina stirred.

Nooo, she groaned, no.

Ruki rushed to her. Don’t try to move too quickly, my dear. You’ve been injured.

Gina’s eyes flitted open. Ruki? she asked.

What happened? Ruki asked. Why are you still in Suusteren?

Long story. I’ll explain later. Right now, I need to get back. Not safe for me out here.

She rose to her feet, thanks in no small part to Ruki’s supporting arm.

I don’t know where you’re trying to get back to, Ruki said but you won’t make it unless we plan carefully, even if it’s only around the corner.

Gina stood still, her oscillating eyes focusing on Ruki. I’m listening.

Ruki realized he didn’t have a plan. He thought for a moment and began rummaging through the wagon until he pulled out a drab gray rain slicker. He threw it over Gina and pulled the hood low over her head.

Keep your head down. And pull my cart.

Pull your cart? she asked incredulously Dude, do you know how wrecked I feel?

I can talk us through that, Ruki said. What I can’t explain is having an assistant who’s not assisting. Unwell as you feel, it is our best way to keep you safe. Please, pull the cart.

A stream of obscenities may have rolled from under her breath, but Gina complied, grasping the wagon’s handles and leaning into her steps. The cart creaked, the wheels turning slowly to set them on their way out of the secluded courtyard and into the city proper.

The skyline of Suusteren looked like jagged teeth, with many of the brick and stone rooftops crumbling and misshapen. Mercenaries, mages and peacekeepers stood on these ruined rooftops throughout the city; up there to either spot the enemy, nullify their missiles or ensure the aians hadn’t somehow infiltrated past the walls. This often meant they